


Letters To the Moon

by orphan_account



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Ryden
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7451743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows that true love can break a curse</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Empty Spaces

**Author's Note:**

> I really liked the idea of this it was from a prompt list thing and I wanted to write something and so I tried but oh well I hope it's okay

A chill in the air, bumps on my skin. Why was it always so damn cold? Even when I blasted my house with heat, I would still be a shivering mess. I didn't have this problem at other people's houses, no matter what the temperature was. When friends came over to my place, they'd be sweating as they begged me to turn the heat off, at least until they left. It's odd. I've always been a cold-blooded person, favoring northern climates and snow over tropical forests next to beaches, but this cold was just too much. It only arrived when I moved into my new apartment. The building seemed fine. This apartment wasn't freezing when I signed the lease, in fact, the temperature didn't start dropping until everything was situated. I was laying in bed during my first night freshly moved in, and it suddenly became so cold that I went out to purchase three new blankets the next morning. I tried talking to the landlord about it, but he just shrugged it off, telling me that it was an old, drafty building. Whatever. I then asked him if anyone lived here before me. I thought maybe I could somehow hunt them down and ask how they survived, but the guy, his name is Zack, just sighed and said that the last people to live in that apartment moved out fifteen years ago. 

I thought that maybe that was why I felt so odd. I was living in a place that hadn't been lived in for more than a decade. When someone last lived here, I was only ten years old. But still, the cold was barely manageable, so I spent as little time as possible in that place. I was really only there at night to sleep, or when I had a day off and none of my friends had free time too. I spend those days wrapped up in every blanket I own and plugging in my space heater.

Today is one of those days. I watch episodes of  _Catfish_ , trying not to yell at the TV when there's a very obvious answer to their woes. Internet dating just seems like too much of a hassle. Dating in general seemed like too much of a hassle. The last serious relationship I had was in high school, and that was high school, so how serious could it really be? I push myself off the couch during a commercial break to make a cup of coffee. I wish I had hot chocolate. 

I fill a mug and bring the hot liquid near my face, letting the steam warm my cold nose. I went to sit it on the counter so I could get some milk to put in it, but I guess I miscalculated and the mug crashed on the floor. Luckily it didn't break, but coffee spilled everywhere, even on the edges of my blanket that I still had wrapped around me. "God fucking-" I bend to pick up the mug and put it in the sink to wash later. The last thing I need is ants in my apartment thanks to messes. I grab a fistful of paper towels and wipe up the mess. I should probably scrub the floor with soap and water so it doesn't get all sticky, but I see that I have no soap in the kitchen. None in the bathroom aside from shampoo either. Damn, am I really that gross? 

I drop the blanket from my shoulders and head to my room to get dressed. I live right by a corner store that sells pretty much everything, I'm sure they have dish soap or something. I pull a hoodie from the hanger and that falls to the floor. What the fuck, why is everything falling? I bend to pick that up too and something catches my eye. It's a picture, which is odd because I've never developed any of my pictures before. There's writing on the back that says,  _B's 22nd b-day, 4/12/12._

2012? That doesn't make any sense. Zack said that the last time the apartment was rented out was fifteen years ago, so how did a picture from four years ago get here? I flip it over and there's a smiling boy in a blurry club. He's smiling so wide, in fact, that I feel the muscles of my own cheeks ache. His face is flushed, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. Maybe Zack forgot about this boy, maybe something happened to him and Zack didn't want to talk about him. I'm pulled from my thoughts by my phone ringing. It's my friend, Spencer. I put the picture on my dresser and answer the call.

"Ryan, are you alive?" Spencer asks.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, my eyes stuck on the picture I found.

"I've been knocking on your door for the last ten minutes and texting you!" He exclaims. "I thought you were dead or something."

"Maybe I'm just not home," I roll my eyes and go to let my friend in. Sure enough, I see about a dozen unanswered messages from him. He glares at me when I open the door, not in a hateful way, but in a I-will-totally-kick-your-ass-if-you-ever-pull-that-shit-again way. "Sorry, Spence. I guess I just didn't hear my phone." I don't tell him that my volume is all the way up and I just didn't hear anything at all until my phone actually started ringing. 

Spencer pushes his way inside, immediately groaning about the heat. I ignore him, instead going to my room to find the picture. "Hey, does this guy look familiar?" I ask, holding the photo out to him. Spencer grabs it, stares at it for a second, then looks back up at me like I have two heads. 

"What guy?" He asks.

"The guy in the picture." I furrow my brows and narrow my eyes, wondering what he means. 

"Uh," Spencer looks from me to the picture and back to me. "Ryan, there's no guy in this picture. It's just some club." 

I snatch the picture back from him and stare it. Sure enough, the boy is right there, smiling and raising his beer in the air. How the fuck? "Spence, he's right there. Are you fucking with me?"

Spencer stares for just a second longer before turning away. "Whatever, Ryan. I don't see a guy. I'm going out, and it looks like you could use a little fun too." 

I don't want to drop the topic just like that. Does Spencer not get that I'm seeing things that he doesn't? Well, only one thing, but still. He doesn't see the boy, even though he's right fucking there! But it's probably not a good idea to keep arguing with Spencer, he'd have my ass sent to a psych ward in no time flat. So I drop it. I agree to go out with him. Maybe he's right, maybe there's something wrong and I'm super stressed out and I don't even realize it. Whatever it is, the loud music of the club and the copious amounts of booze entering me sure help in forgetting about invisible boys in pictures.

Somewhere in the night, I'm dancing along to a beat that sounds familiar to a million others that have been played. A girl kisses me, and trades the pill on her tongue to mine, which I swallow with a mouthful of beer, smiling gratefully at her. She takes me to the bathroom, blows me, leaves without more than that. It's weird what happens during a night out. I'm back out on the dance floor, high on something that I've never heard of, Spencer and our other friends long gone. 

A lithe boy dances next to me, his hips knocking mine. It's practically as simple as the girl dragging me to the bathroom, before I know it we're at my apartment, falling onto my unmade bed and sweating. God, I'm fucking _sweating._  That doesn't happen in this place. I let the boy undress me and I briefly wonder if that girl would have come back with us too, if I could only get her to stick around longer. Not that I have a problem with being fucked by a guy. Boy, girl, it's never mattered to me much. At the end of the day, a person is a person. 

I forgot how good it was to be fucked. I mean, maybe it's not all _that_  good, but the heat is definitely appreciated in this room. Fuck, this apartment is going to turn me into someone with a goddamn heat kink of all things. 

The guy finishes before me and jerks me off the rest of the way. I drunkenly fall asleep after, not really noticing if the guy stays or goes. A few hours later I'm shivering, cold sweat drying in the air. The guy left and took his heat with him, the fucker. Oh well. I fall back asleep pretty easily. 


	2. Ghost Boys

Everything is way too bright and way too loud. Seriously, who the fuck let the sun come up? I'm pulled from sleep by the urge to vomit, which I do, just barely making it to the bathroom in time to hit the toilet. Shit. Last night was fun, definitely, but maybe a little too much fun. Now I know that I was drinking away the idea of seeing things-

Oh yeah! Maybe that picture had all been a bad dream. I manage to bring myself to my feet and go out to the livinig room where I last remember having the picture. Sure enough, it's on my coffee table and the smiling boy is there, almost as if he's taunting me. Fuck him. Well, he looks nice. Who the fuck is he though? 

There's a knock on the door and I groan. Looking through the peephole, I see Zack. I check the time on my phone and it's well after noon. I open the door and greet him, hoping that I don't seem as hungover as I feel. "Hey." I try to smile but only manage to raise a corner of my mouth feebly. 

He skips pleasant talk and just says, "Rent's due." Shit, that's right. I completely forgot. I nod and go to the kitchen, where I keep the money. Zack doesn't accept anything but cold, hard cash. I keep the house money in a cabinet above the fridge. It's not the most secure place, but then again I don't have much reason to worry. 

"Here," I hold out the rent money to him and he takes it and that's that. Except, no, wait- "Zack," I call out, stopping him when he was at the top of the stairs. He turns, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Did you ever rent out this place to a boy, about my age?" I ask, figuring that there's no harm in checking with him.

He stares at me blankly. "I told you, the last time this place was rented out was fifteen years ago. The boyfriend was at least ten years older than you."

I sigh. "Yeah, just wondering. Guess I better lay off the booze." I try to joke, but Zack just goes down the steps, his footsteps echoing off the thin walls. I close and lock the door, feeling frustrated. I don't know why I'm so angry, I have no reason to be. I guess I'm more confused than anything. I have this picture with a boy that only I can see, who apparently never existed. 

I'm too hungover for this. Time for more sleep.

 

My phone wakes me up, my alarm for work blaring. I slept straight through the afternoon and the night without getting up once. I've never handled hangovers well. At least my headache is gone. I shower, washing the grime and- what the fuck, dried come? Off my body. Jesus, how much did I drink that night? I guess I'm out of practice.

I towel off as quickly as I can, shivering. I stuff my face with toast made from stale bread and chug coffee, making up for the meals I didn't eat yesterday, and I'm out the door, rushing to not get fired for being late. 

I work at a pretty okay place. Nothing special considering I didn't go the college route, just a bar. I wake up early to get there and clean up the messes made from any parties held the day before, and then open up for my boss, which I'm trying desperately to impress. Not just because he's pretty fucking hot, either. I've worked there for a few months now, and I feel like he's finally starting to view me as more than just a worker. I scrub down the tabletops and struggle to keep my breakfast down when I encounter vomit that has had plenty of time to sit and stew near the bathroom before finding a mop to clean it up as best as I can. The bell on the door jingles and I don't bother looking as I call out, "Not open."

There's no response, which creeps me out a little, so I look. Holy fucking shit! It's the boy from the picture, smiling at me. I snap back to my senses. "S-sorry. We're not open yet." 

He doesn't reply, just smiles at me. I open my mouth to say something else, but then I'm being shaken back and forth. "Ryan!" My boss yells near my ear. I blink and look at him. Shit, he's hot. I feel my face warm up immediately, like always. "Who the fuck are you talking to?"

"The guy at the door?" I say, not meaning to sound uncertain, but, he's right there. Doesn't he see?

He looks back and forth between me and the door, frowning. "Ryan, there's nobody there. You feeling alright?"

Shit. Just like the picture? "Sorry, Pete." I mumble, glancing at the boy by the door, still just standing there, smiling. "I'm fine. Guess I'm a little tired."

He gives me a soft smile which makes my insides squirm. "Well, wake up. We open in fifteen." He claps me on the back and heads to his make-shift office, to do whatever bosses do. I focus on mopping even though the stain has long been cleaned. I try not to look at the invisible boy, but he's moving now and my eyes watch him wander. He sits on a bar stool, facing away from me. I keep watching him, how does Pete not see this shit? The boy helps himself to beer, pulling a bottle right from over the counter.

"Hey!" I shout, but it doesn't stop him. "Dude, you can't-"

Pete comes out from his office (which is really just a closet room in the back but whatever) looking confused. "Ryan, what's going on?" 

My eyes widen and I look from Pete to the boy. "I don't know," I say honestly. The boy at the bar just drinks from his beer and watches me, a smirk on his face. 

"Do I need to send you home?" Pete asks. I can't have him mad at me, forget getting laid. I need this job. 

"No, no. I'm fine." I try to sound convincing, but my voice is a little weak. Pete stares for a second.

"Okay. Go flip the sign and get behind the bar. Dallon will be coming in later to help, but that won't be until around eleven." Pete tells me. "I'll be in the back, if it gets busy I'll come out to help." 

"Okay, Pete." I try to reassure him with a smile, but he doesn't smile back. I sigh and take my position behind the bar, absently cleaning glasses and trying to ignore the smirking boy that's been staring at me for the past fifteen minutes. 

A few costumers come and go, putting coins in the jukebox and progressively getting more and more drunk. The one constant throughout the night is that everyone avoids the stool the invisible boy is sitting in, like they can sense that someone is there. Nobody even looks at him. He just sits there, sipping his beer and looking at me. I decide to try and get him to talk again.

I grab a rag and wipe up nothing, using it as an excuse to lean closer to him and whisper, "Please tell me you talk and that I'm not going crazy." He takes another sip from his beer, smiles at me as he sets it down. Then he shakes his head back and forth. "You can't talk?" I ask for clarification. He shakes his head again. Fucking great. I'm seeing things. I squint my eyes and rub my temples, feeling headache-y. It's probably a good idea to not acknowledge him, whatever he is. 

Dallon comes through the entrance then. He's pretty attractive. Tall, dark-haired, good sense of humor, but straight as a line. I'm not one to chase after straight guys, so I don't even bother with flirting. Dallon comes behind the bar and greets me, talking about the weather and how it's turned gloomy. Despite the fact that I've never held a conversation that lasted longer than a minute with him, I focus on every word he's saying to keep myself from drifting back to that boy. 

"Need a refill?" Dallon suddenly asks, looking behind me. Did he ask that boy? Can he see him? I look over my shoulder but there's a girl standing just beside the boy, asking for another drink. I sigh, ready to just start slamming my head into the table. When Dallon is busy mixing a drink I grit through my teeth, "What the fuck are you doing here?" 

I blink.

The boy is gone. 

Just like that, he vanishes. I look around, but he's not in the stool. Thank fuck. I finally let myself smile and enjoy my time at the bar. I don't hate my job, I've seen plenty of interesting people on any given shift, but the air that the boy brought with him was nothing but sadness and gloom. I decide that asking one more person wouldn't hurt anything anymore than it had before, so I turn to Dallon and ask, "Did you see where that guy went?" Nodding behind me to the now vacant stool.

Dallon looks over in the direction and shrugs. "I didn't even see a guy there." He tells me. I give him a shrug in return. At least he's not asking me if I'm crazy. Suddenly the bar looks a lot more full than it had when the boy was here, and I'm too busy filling glasses to worry about the fact that I'm officially even a little too crazy for myself to handle.  
The distractions only last as long as my shift. By the time I'm home, smelling like whiskey and cigarettes, I'm shaking with the idea that I talked with something that nobody else could even see and what that means. Do I have some sickness? Am I losing my shit? I pour myself some coffee, not even to warm up, but just to have something to occupy my hands so I don't start hitting shit. 

Then I remember that it's one in the morning and not a good idea to drink caffeine if I want to sleep at all, so I stop the pot and go to my room and fiddle around with my guitar. I love music, and letting my fingers hit the familiar strings helps calm me down a bit. An hour or so passes and I begin yawning, feeling my eyes grow heavy. I lay my guitar beside me and fall back on my bed. My eyes are closed, I'm drifting off. Then I hear something.

There's a soft clink of something metal out in the living room. I spring up from the bed and strain my ears to listen. Sure enough, there's another clink and I hear footsteps hurrying away outside of my apartment. I slowly go to check my home and make sure I wasn't robbed, but everything's in place. I check the time, it's three in the morning. Spooky hour. Fuck that.

I turn to go back to bed, but then I see something by my door. It's an envelope. Who gets mail at this hour? I pick up the letter and it's addressed to _the Urie house_ , but stamped with a _return to sender_. I examine the outside and it seems pretty normal. I don't think anyone would randomly hit me with anthrax. I'm pretty sure I don't have any enemies that want me dead. Pretty sure.

I rip the letter open and see a lined piece of paper that simply says:

_Dear mom and dad,_

_I'm happy now. I hope you are too._

_-B_

Why would someone want to return the letter? I shake my head and put the letter on top of the TV, next to the picture of the boy. He must be the _B_ that wrote the letter. So, he's obviously real. I mean, there's a written letter that _he_ must have wrote. But what happened to him? So many questions. I saw him at the bar, maybe it's his ghost? Holy shit, do I have a ghost following me around? Maybe that's why his parents sent the letter back unopened, it would be too heartbreaking to read a letter from their dead son.

But a ghost. That's like, supernatural shit. I've always been skeptical, I mean anything's possible, but I never thought that _I'd_ be haunted by a ghost. A hot ghost. No, Ryan, you can't think that ghosts are hot. Isn't that, like, necrophilia? Wait. I'm not fucking the ghost, so. 

I think that maybe I've been awake a little too long to ponder about whether or not I can think a ghost is hot. But this is interesting, no way I want to go to sleep now. I have to see him again. I could call his name, but I only know one letter. Nobody's going to burst in or walk by and hear me, so I shout, "Hello? Ghost-boy?" 

No response. Duh. I feel ridiculous for even doing that. I fall back on the couch and fall asleep shortly after, not even shivering too hard from the cold.


	3. Not So Dead

Weeks pass by and nothing abnormal happens. No weirdly returned letters, no photographs that make me question my sanity. I almost let myself believe that the whole thing had blown over. When I woke up this morning there was snow in the air, small flakes falling from the sky. Overnight a storm had blown in and mountains of snow had appeared over the green grass outside my apartment. I see someone shoveling a path from the entrance to the sidewalk, which had already been cleared by the city. I don't see the point though, snowflakes cover up any trace of work within minutes. I even get a text from Pete telling me to stay home today because this is supposedly the biggest snow storm the city's gonna see this year. What a way to kick off winter. I check the weather station and sure enough, the broadcaster is telling me that I can expect twenty-four inches of snow by the end of today. And that's just today- apparently this storm is supposed to rage for a while. I can feel the cold seeping in through my walls and I can't help but imagining myself being found dead in spring, thawing out in my apartment after turning to ice. Even though I hadn't seen the ghost-boy in a while, I still call out, "Can you please not freeze me this winter? It's getting kinda lame." Of course I don't get a reply, but I swear I feel just a little bit warmer anyway. 

I layer up. Two pairs of sweatpants and three sweaters later, I'm not shivering anymore. Throwing on my blankets helps even more, and I begin to feel actual heat in my toes and hands. I try to relax, but my mind is very preoccupied. I know I should let it go, just throw it away, but the letter is still open in my kitchen where I had left it. I can't stop thinking about that boy and what could've happened to him. There's no question that he lived here at one point, but why did Zack act like he never existed? Why can't anyone see him except me? 

That's the most confusing part. 

I decide that the TV is too boring and I pull my laptop from beside the couch to search some things up. Couldn't hurt. I run the search engine and my fingers still over the keyboard, trying to come up with a question to actually search. I never thought about actually researching. Maybe I could find records of the guy online? A profile or something, that could work. I type  _B Urie_ into the search box and I'm thrown so many articles and reports my mind spins a little, and none of them even have anything to do with a disappearance or murder or something. None of the pictures match the boy I've seen either. 

I keep typing in random variations of the same question;  _am I being haunted?_

I don't know how long I've been searching through the internet, but suddenly my apartment becomes colder than it ever has. I can even see my breath when I exhale. Oh shit. I close my laptop and look around, suddenly feeling like I'm not alone. Before I can call out, there's a gush of wind beside me and then I hear an unfamiliar voice saying, "You're not gonna find anything."

I scream, falling off of my couch and landing in a heap of blankets on the floor. I manage to see who the infiltrator is. It's the boy. He fucking- He talked to me!? I want to talk to him, ask him questions and find out who the fuck this boy is but all that comes out of my mouth when it drops open is a feeble, "Whattafuck." Ghost-Boy laughs hysterically, as if me nearly dying from a heart attack is the most comical thing he's ever witnessed. I collect myself, scooping blankets up with me as I stand. "Who the fuck are you?" I finally manage to ask, annoyance and anger replacing fright. 

He stops laughing, finally, and looks up at me with wide eyes. "My name?"

"Yes, what the fuck is your name?" I don't mean to yell at him, but this is the fucker that's been making me feel crazy for the past couple of months. It's time he talked.

"I- uh," He seems stuck. "I don't think I can tell you." 

My eyes probably could've fallen out of my head from rolling them so hard. "Why not?"

Ghost-Boy squirms uncomfortably on the couch, avoiding my eyes now and staring at his lap. "Because I technically don't exist anymore. I don't have a name to give you." Okay. That's not something I ever thought I'd hear.

"Well, what does that mean? Are you a ghost?" 

He quickly shakes his head, a small smile back on his face. "No I didn't die." 

My legs feel weak. So, he's not a ghost but he doesn't exist. Anger has been slowly rising in my chest. Not necessarily anger at this guy, but anger at this whole situation. I never asked to be semi-haunted. I feel all of the anger explode out of me and I launch forward, blankets falling from my shoulders and me, tackling him to the floor. I didn't think that I'd actually touch him, in my mine ghosts weren't touchable. But, right, he said he's not a ghost. This realization doesn't stop me from decking this son of a bitch. He doesn't fight back, he just looks at me, too shocked to even cover the spot that I just hit him in. Then he kicks into overdrive, kicking me off of him and rolling out from under me and trying to punch me back. I duck, and I go to punch him again, but he's gone. 

"Not fair," I call out to the empty apartment. "Get your ass back here!" He doesn't reappear, but I don't feel angry anymore. Just tired. Tired of the cold and tired of being confused. I sit on the couch and catch my breath. Once I'm pretty sure I won't try to kill him I say, "Look, if I promise to stay calm will you come back?"

The air shifts slightly and the boy reappears, not near the couch but over by the kitchen entrance. He has a bruise blossoming under his eye. Ouch. I didn't realize I hit him so hard. "I'm sorry," I mutter, just loud enough for him to hear. 

"I guess I deserved it." He shrugs. "I've kinda been making you miserable these past few months."

"I wouldn't say miserable." I reply. "Just really cold." 

He smiles, and I decide that I like seeing him smile more than I like seeing him scared and sad. So far all I know is that he's not dead and he's not a ghost. But he doesn't exist. I narrow my eyes. "Why are you talking to me now? Why not before, like at the bar?"

"I didn't know if I could trust you yet." He tells me. "I disappeared from existence, the last thing I wanted was for you to run to the cops or something dumb like fucking  _Ghost Busters_ and try to exorcise me out." 

I laugh, even though it wasn't really funny. "But what do you mean you 'disappeared from existence'?" I ask him. This makes him frown and look away again. Oh god, I hope he at least remembers  _that._  

"It's, ah, kinda a long story." He shrugs.

"Well, we're sorta snowed in, so we have time." I tell him, nodding to the window. He looks and sees the snow falling, a sad smile on his face. He perches on the windowsill and watches flakes fall. I feel like a bad host. Maybe I should offer him something like coffee or hot chocolate. Can he drink stuff? Or eat? While I'm pondering the capabilities of his dead-but-not-really-dead body, he chews nervously on his thumb. 

I feel the tension building, and then in one outburst he announces, "I sort of pissed off a witch." 

"A  _witch?_ _"_ This time, my eyes nearly fall out of my head from bulging so big. 

"Ah, well, a girl who was practicing to be a witch." He adds, even though it doesn't really clarify anything. "So now I'm just stuck like this. I'm not dead, I said that, but she made it so it's like I was never born. Like I'm invisible and undocumented." I watch the way he rests his forehead on my window, his eyes glistening sadly as he watches the snowfall. It takes a second to click. 

"So, you're like here, but  _not here."_  

I sound like I'm high.

He chuckles. "I guess so."

I have one final question to ask. "And the cold doesn't bother you?" 

He looks at me like that's the last thing he expected me to ask him. "Well, I'm the source of it, so."

I push myself off the couch. "Yeah, but are  _you_ cold too?" I take a step towards him, reaching out to feel his bare skin. He's in a tee-shirt, he's gotta be a little cold. When I touch his skin, he's as warm as any human I've ever touched before. Even warmer, actually. "Holy shit," I breathe. He looks at me confused when I press closer to him. "You are so goddamn  _warm."_

He laughs at me as I nuzzle into him. I figure it's okay, that I'm not invading his personal space or anything considering he's been here for months, all while I've eating and shit and showered and-

"Were you there to see me have sex?" I ask, pulling away from his warmth a little.

He snorts. "Which time?" His eyes sparkle mischievously. "That one guy you let pound you, the girl that threw up everywhere before you could do anything, or one of the other hundreds of times I was forced to see you do the do?"

I chuckle at his words, _do the do._  "Okay, first, I've only had a handful of people here the past few months, not hundreds. Second, can you really blame me? Sex is hot, and not in a sexy way, but a legitimate, free-heater way. Third, nobody had you tied to a chair with your eyes taped open to watch." I'm laughing too much to be even the slightest bit embarrassed by him.

"I mean, kinda." He shrugs. "I can only go where you go. I think 'cause you moved into my home and. Yeah."

" _Your_ home?" I raise my eyebrows. Last I checked, my ass was paying the rent every other month, not his. 

"Well, yeah." He says like I'm dumb. "I lived here before I pissed off that girl and she made me disappear."

"So you're, like, attached to me?" 

He nods, looking at his feet again. "I guess so."

Now that the exchange has passed, I feel my face grow warm at the idea of this guy being around during my private moments. Maybe he at least had the decency to look away. Maybe he got off, too. I shake my head and go back to the couch, motioning for him to follow. If he's going to be stuck here, he might as well be useful. He's the reason my apartment is so cold all the time, so now he can be a heater for me to snuggle up against so I won't become a headline in spring. Dying seems too overrated anyway, so I push myself closer to him and let myself relax and warm up, feeling him loosen up after a little while too.


	4. Silent Battles

I guess we fell asleep. At least I did. I wake up to sunlight streaming through my window, amplified by all of the snow it's reflecting off of. I'm sprawled out, alone. I sit up, rubbing at a sore spot in my neck from sleeping on the couch. I don't even have a blanket, the cold has begun to seep into my skin, chilling my bones. I blink against the light and and look towards the kitchen. I see him standing at the table, a piece of paper in his hand. There's a moment where I'm just looking at him. I feel like a spy watching him in a personal moment. His hair falls in his face and curls at the nape of his neck, I notice a tattoo on his arm of piano keys. How many times has he seen me in my own personal moments, when I thought I was alone? Suddenly he's looking at me and I flush, like I had been caught stealing a cookie from the damn cookie jar. "Good morning." He says, clutching tight to the paper in his hands. When I focus, I see that it's the lined paper letter that was delivered a few nights ago.

"Is it morning?" I ask, rubbing my eyes more. They seem like they just don't want to adjust to the winter light.

"About eight." He tells me. Wow. I haven't woken up before noon in forever. The earliest I wake up is eleven for work, and that's with an alarm that I hatefully smack every morning. Thinking of work, I check my messages and see one from Pete telling me that since the blizzard has died down the bar will be open today and he hopes that I'll put some of my "eager energy" into shoveling. I'm starting to wonder if getting in his pants is even worth it.

"Well. Want any breakfast?" I ask, forgetting that it might be impossible for him to eat. 

"Uh, sure. I could eat." 

"Really?" I don't mean to sound so surprised, but I was expecting him to tell me that he doesn't need to eat to survive anymore, like some young adult novel shit.

"Well, yeah. If you were really offering."

"Yeah," I stand up from the couch, no longer squinting against the sunlight and stretching my tight limbs. "I just didn't know if you could actually eat." Flashes of him come to mind, in the bar when he stole beer and broke open peanuts to munch on. I'm a fucking idiot.

"Well, I don't exist anymore, but I do get hungry sometimes." He smiles, and I almost don't notice that he folds the note up and slides it in his pocket. Whatever, it's not my business. He's the  _B_ that wrote it, so it's his to take if he wants it. I busy myself with looking through my cabinets for something I can cook. There's an old box of spaghetti that I don't remember buying and a sleeve of unopened crackers that are probably stale anyway. In the fridge there's milk and eggs, and wow, I guess I never cook for myself. Eggs can be a good breakfast I guess. I pull the carton out and debate whether or not refrigerated eggs can expire or if they only rot if you keep them out. I eventually shrug and figure that if I give myself food poisoning, at least I won't be alone. They don't smell weird.

There's not much conversation while I cook. I lean close to the stove while the eggs sizzle, feeling the heat on my skin. It's gotten a little warmer since he's made himself visible to me, but the winter air is seeping in since I forgot to turn on my heater last night. I cook all the eggs, unsure how much he wants or how he wants them since he doesn't talk. Part of me wonders if he is just an occasional hallucination, but then he's by my side, flipping done eggs onto a plate with a fork and diffing in. He perches on the windowsill again, staring outside. I lean against my counter, eating a few eggs myself thinking it wouldn't be fair if I let him get sick and purposefully avoided it myself. There's so many questions swirling around in my head and one flows free without much thought from myself. "How do you make yourself invisible?"

I watch him swallow slowly. He looks caught off-guard, his throat struggling to swallow a lump. His eyebrows scrunch together before he says, "I don't know. I've never really thought about it. I guess since I don't exist I just let myself, uh, not exist?" He frames it like a question, just as unsure as I am.

"It's fuckin' cool," I tell him, shoveling more eggs into my mouth. 

He chuckles. "Yeah, well, it's not like a superpower or anything. To everyone else it's not a choice."

"What do you mean?" I ask, moving aside when he walks over and flips another egg onto his plate.

He clears his throat. "People don't see me. I'll walk right in front of someone and they'll just move around me. I've talked to people, shouted until my voice went hoarse, they just don't hear." He sets his plate aside, face falling into a frown. I set mine down as well, appetite lessened. 

"That sounds like it sucks." I say, sounding way less empathetic than I feel. I could have said anything to try and comfort him and I say it  _sucks._ I'm sure he knows that it sucks. I can't imagine what it must be like to not be seen, and not even metaphorically like blending in a crowd, but trying to talk people, to touch them and have some sort of contact and have it all be for nothing because nothing works. It clicks then, that this boy had some bitter person hurt him and now he's suffering from it. "Can I ask you something?" I prompt, pushing my unfinished plate towards him, which he happily accepts.

"Sure."

"What did you do to piss that witch off?" That's a sentence I never expected to say seriously. 

He smirks and reminds me, "She wasn't a witch, just practicing to be one."

"Yeah, well, same difference." 

He drops his eyes from me, smile gone. "Well, uh," He clears his throat and focuses intensely on his eggs, like they hold all the answers to life and the universe in them. "It was sorta my fault. I gave her the wrong idea. I, well. . ." He trails off, rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck, eggs forgotten.

"You don't have to tell me," I say, hoping I didn't hit a nerve.

"It's fine," He quickly assures me. "Just bad memories." He smiles softly and then after a beat he rushes out, "So I- I'm gay." 

I stare for a second. Was he so nervous to tell me that? I mean he himself teased me about the men I brought back to this place to fuck. "Okay," I say slowly, trying to figure out the relevance of his sexuality to the situation. "Did she do it because she was homophobic?" I ask, hoping I'm wrong because I will not hesitate to fight her. 

"No no!" He exclaims. "She was actually very chill with all of that. I don't know exactly what she identifies as, but she told me once that she didn't care about physical bodies, that it was just about the soul or whatever." Huh. I never though of it like that. I usually just do who my dick tells me to do. He continues. "But, uh, she had this huge crush on me and she didn't know about me because I'm not very open about it and so one night she just- she just goes for it." I watch his face slowly turn bright red. "She just shoves me against the door-" He nods over his shoulder towards my home's entrance, "And just fuckin' goes for it, shoving a hand down my pants and well, nothing happened because I'm  _gay_ , I didn't have any reaction at all."

"So you just stood there while she tried to fuck you?" I ask, receiving a sheepish nod as a reply. "And so because you couldn't get it up, she witched you out of existence?"

"No. I explained everything to her and she apologized. She seemed angry but she promised she wasn't mad at me. Then later she started ranting about how I was living a lie and how I shouldn't live a life in hiding and I guess somewhere along the way she cursed me out of existence. And now I'm this." He sweeps the air in front of him, down the length of his body, then lets his hand fall limply by his side. 

"Well, what happened to her?" I feel the urge to find her, bring her back and fix what she did to this boy. I lean closer to him. It's like every word I hear from him makes me see him more and more as a ghost, but he's not a goddamn ghost. 

He shrugs. "She's still in the city. But it's not like she'd remember me. The spell affected her, too."

"She sounds like a shitty witch." I growl, my fists curling stupidly with anger. "So now I'm the only one who can see you? Who can touch you?" Too emphasize my question, I reach out and grab him by the shoulders, closing the gap of space between us. His cheeks are red, and I don't know if it's still from telling his story.

"I mean, she told me that there should be a reverse to every curse and maybe. . ." He trails off again, muttering to himself while he thinks. His eyes sparkle and he's suddenly exclaiming, "Maybe you're the reverse!"

I drop my hands from his shoulders. "Excuse me?"

"Well, not even she knows I exist anymore, as soon as it was done she just walked away and continued on with her day unaware of me. But you- you see me! you talk to me! There has to be a reason for that, Ryan!"

In all of the commotion I find myself wondering where he picked up my name from, which conversation he heard and plucked it from. After the thought passes, I shake my head. There's no way I'm some magic key to reverse a spell, and I tell him that. 

Arguing with him just seems to make him more determined. "It makes sense." He insists. "You have to find her, you can help." He grabs my hand between both of his, squeezing hard, his eyes shining with hope. "Please Ryan, please help me."

I try to take a second to process everything, but all I can think about is how warm his hands make mine and how pretty his eyes are. "I want to help you," I begin carefully. "D-do you remember her name?"

He nods excitedly. "Yeah! It was- well, she doesn't go by it professionally. Her 'name' for work and stuff is just Mystica."

"Mystica." I repeat, frowning. When he nods, I crack a smile. "What kind of shitty name is that?" At least I can make him smile a little. But then he drops my hand and shoves his in his jean pockets. Oh.

"She uses it to emphasize her  _magical abilities_." He tells me, using air quotes around the words. "She's well established in the cheaper, sleazier parts of town."

"That's a vague spectrum of areas to search in." I tell him.

"Oh, I'm sorry. That's all I know." He shrugs." I never went to her place, she always came here." He looks discouraged. I don't like the way his eyes cast down, the way his lips draw into a wobbly pout. I quickly nod and smile, trying to reassure him.

"No, it's okay. I'll find her." I promise, even though I didn't want to promise anything. He lights up, turning away to clean dishes for me, saying that it's a part of thanking me. I watch him work, and my eyes slowly drift off to the door. I imagine him being pinned against it like he said he had been, eyes wide and hair messed up. I zone out for a second, picturing my hands grabbing his clothes and pulling at them. I imagine his skin slipping on mine, the way he feels so solid and the knowledge that I'm the only one who can touch him zooming around in my brain. I let my eyes flick back to him. He's still scrubbing away at the pan I cooked eggs in, a smile still on his face as he whistles a tune. I want to reach out and touch him, and remember that he's real despite all of the crazy things he's told me. 

I see my hand cupping the back of his neck, feeling the warmth beneath my fingers before he stiffens up and pulls away, stepping closer to the sink. "Ryan, everything okay?" He asks, turning around, our chests pressing together. Because of this, I notice that I have stepped towards him and I if I wanted- if he wants, too, I could easily move just slightly and kiss him. He'd have nowhere to go, pressed between me and the sink. 

But then I'd be no better than that witch, stealing a kiss from him when he couldn't run. 

I step back, reality crashing through my fantasies. I'm suddenly a blushing, stuttering mess. I can't believe myself. "I-I was gonna kiss you." I stupidly say, growing warmer and warmer with embarrassment. "Sorry." I mumble dumbly. I don't know if he heard me. I don't wait to see what he does or says, Instead I leave the kitchen and go shower. When I get out, he's not here. Well, maybe he is, but he's just gone invisible. Whatever happened, I feel like a total idiot with a dumb school-girl crush. I have to get ready for work anyway, since Pete expects me to be the early, chipper worker that I always am.

~~~~~~

Who the fuck let this much snow fall from the sky? It was bad enough just getting to work, but I see that the sidewalk outside of the bar hasn't been touched since the storm. I manage to push my way through snow that goes above my knees and push the door open, snow tumbling in with me. I flick on the lights, the room filling with the usual electric buzz that's audible when there's no business. I head towards the back, where Pete told me a snow shovel would be. Sure enough, there's one propped up against his desk with a note on the handle reading, " _you're the best :)"_ as if Pete just knew I'd hopelessly follow his demands that exceed the lines of my job description.

I grumpily grab it, a little off from my earlier burst of emotion. I trudge my way back out to the snow and work my stress out by digging deep and exerting my muscles in a way I haven't in years. Exercise blows.

By the time I reach the main sidewalk, I'm out of breath and sweating, overheated but still shivering from the cold. I keep expecting Ghost-Boy to appear out of nowhere and make fun of me and I don't even care that he's not a ghost, what else am I supposed to call him?

I clear as much as I can, leaving the rest to the city and other businesses. The warmth of the bar is just too tempting. Inside I do the usual, sweep and wipe, set up chairs and stools for customers. The door bell jingles and it's Pete, smiling widely at me. "Ryan, my best employee!" He cheers.

"Damn right I am, I better get a bonus for this." I say, only half-joking. I bend over to scoop up a discarded napkin and feel Pete tap my ass. Oh shit. Was that real?

"You'll get a bonus." I hear him say, his voice low. When I turn to look, he winks at me before going to his room in the back. Was that- was that the fucking invitation I've been waiting forever for? I want to just pull my pants down and follow him back, but I have to finish opening up. Do I risk getting chastised for not finishing, or do I lean on the small hope that maybe, finally, Pete is going to suck my dick?

Fuck. I need this job more than I need my dick sucked, so I hurry to flip the sign and unlock the door, moving to take my post behind the bar. Of course, today is the slowest day in the history of work days. Nobody wants to climb through mountains of snow for beer. By the end of the night I've only served three people and my hands tap restlessly on everything, my body buzzing impatiently along with the lights. I check the time on my phone and right as the final minute of my shift ticks away, I hear Pete call my name.

I go back to his room, pausing to wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. When I enter, he's sitting at his desk, chewing on the end of a pen and tapping his foot to some beat in his head. When he looks at me he's smiling. When he speaks, his voice is steady and low. "Ryan, let's talk bonuses." Pete Wentz is one brave guy. He definitely doesn't beat around the bush. In one swift motion he's up from his chair and kissing me, hands working to undo my belt. He's shorter than me, so I have to bend my neck slightly to chase after his his lips when he pulls away.

 _He's my boss._ I think, stupidly stuffing my hand in his pants. He sighs into my neck and I feel pain when he bites, surely leaving a very noticeable mark. Before I know it he sinks to his knees after pinning me against the desk, and he's pulling my pants down and-  _holy fucking shit._ Don't get me wrong, I've had more than my fair share of blow jobs in my life, but Pete just fucking  _goes for it._ I twist and pull and at his hair and he doesn't stop, doesn't complain. Through my haze I swear I see Ghost-Boy by the door but I squeeze my eyes shut and let my head fall back, trying not to let my fantasy from earlier come rushing back. When I look again, he's not there, so I chalk it up to imagination.

I try to warn Pete but he just swallows everything down and when he stands I see how wrecked his mouth looks, his smirk still there, teasing. "There's your bonus," He jokes. "Now mine." He presses down on my shoulders hard.

"But you're my boss," I tease. "I'm not supposed to be the one paying you." I comply anyway, going down and then bracing the walk home with sore knees and a knot in my hair from his tight grip.

Weeks from that night pass by in the same pattern. Well, almost the same. I don't see ghost-Boy. I must have creeped him out. Whatever it is, I stick to my promise nonetheless. The search for this girl seems hopeless though. None of my friends have ever heard of her and It only occurs to me a few weeks in to actually look her up. When I finally do, I can't help but chuckle at her name and how she sounds like a knock-off superhero that didn't make the cut. Within the first few search results I find her, a surprising website greeting me and showing me her face that is decorated with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. The introduction says that she is " _a bright young mind eager to please any magical whims."_ This chick sounds like a fucking role-player or something. I click around until I find an address, finally ending this search that has taken nearly a whole damn month.

I close my laptop. All that's left now is to go to her, fill her in on the life she erased, and get her to fix this mess. I'm glad I found her and I call out to my empty apartment that I did, just in case he's hanging around.

I'm not expecting a reply, so when I hear a soft, "Took you long enough." I jump. 

"It's only been like, a month." I reply, disappointed that he's keeping himself invisible. I try to keep my voice light and joking, only hearing a huff in response. He must be sitting next to me. "Okay. Well. I have to get to work now but I'm off tomorrow. I can go see her then?"

He mutters something and I swear I catch a  _blow your fucking boss,_ but I ignore it. If he wants to play this game instead of just coming out and telling me how I made him uncomfortable and dealing with this issue, the I can play it too. I shove the computer off my lap towards where I guess he'll be and push myself off the couch.

"I might just blow him," I taunt, feeling annoyance grow in the pit of my stomach. In fact, since that night a month ago, I haven't touched Pete. It's not awkward between us or anything, it's just now that it's happened, I'm not lusting after him as hard. I still do everything I used to do, mainly to stay out of the apartment longer, I just turn down Pete's invitations to the back room when they come up. "It's none of your business anyway." I add.

I hear the tell-tail click of a tongue, like  _he's_ the one annoyed with  _me._ I wait for the comeback but it never arrives, so I sulk off to my room to put jeans and snow pants on. I don't say goodbye when I leave, instead I just let the echo of my slammed door follow me out of the building.

I don't know why I felt so annoyed, it's not like anything happened between Ghost-Boy and I. Maybe it's because I said I was going to kiss him and now his uncomfortable and doesn't know how to tell me. What if as soon as this is fixed he leaves? I'm kind of living in his apartment now, and I'm not fucking moving again, I don't care how drafty it is. Okay, I care a little but that's beside the point. Ghost-Boy isn't kicking me out.

A lot of snow has been cleared so the shift is busier than it has been the past month. Pete raises his eyebrows at me from across the room and Ghost-Boy's words echo in my mind and I think, fuck it. I get him back in his office even though it leaves Dallon on his own and I angrily suck him off, not even caring when he bites into my neck beforehand. I swat his hand away when it reaches for me, saying that it's busy and I have to get back out there. When my shift ends I'm still running on the fumes of my anger, and it shows in the heavy fall of my feet as I head towards the door.  I could invite Pete back to my place, fuck him right on the sofa for the asshole invading my home to see. I go back to the office to ask him, saying that we should "Continue what I stopped earlier." He smiles, tongue poking out through his teeth at me. 

I don't bother entertaining him much on the walk back to my apartment, not when I see that on my other side, Ghost-Boy is walking next to me. His eyes are on my neck, staring at the bruise that I'm sure is like a neon-fucking-light on my skin. I want to stop walking and shake him, yell at him to just say what's bothering him, but then Pete would probably fire me and send me to the hospital for yelling and punching at air. 

I get down to business, tearing my coat off as soon as I get home, pushing Pete up against the door like I imagined with Ghost-Boy earlier this month. Pete moans against my lips and turns us around, and my eyes immediately lock with Ghost-Boy. I angrily make out with Pete, theatrically almost, my eyes saying  _I'll fuck him right in front of you, bitch._

But suddenly he doesn't look angry anymore. I see his eyes get misty before he breaks the contact, looking away to stare at the ground. Then he's invisible. What? No. We're supposed to be angry, not upset. "Pete-" I try to shove him off me, desperate to make him visible again. I hear a sharp sniff that doesn't belong to Pete. "Stop," I push hard when I feel his teeth on my neck, and he stumbles back, looking confused.

"All good Ryan?" He asks, eyes dark, hands reaching.

I shake my head. "I-I can't."

"What's wrong?" Pete asks, trailing a hand down my torso, trying to rope me back in. 

"I just- I changed my mind." I snap, opening the door and ushering him out. At least I see that Ghost-Boy is back, watching warily with tears in his eyes. I keep my eyes on him, barely giving Pete a goodbye, hesitantly promising to text him. As I close the door I hear a faint, "Oh, don't let me stop you this time." I know he's trying to sound bitter and mad, but he just sounds so upset, his voice shaking. I wait for Pete's footsteps to fade away before turning to him.

"What the hell's your problem?" I bark out, feeling conflicted and blue-balled. 

His face is so red it's almost comical. "My problem?: He spits out angrily. "I'm not the one with a problem!:

"Really," I laugh sarcastically. "You've been nothing but an asshole this past month!"

His mouth is open but nothing comes out. "You-you," He stammers. I can feel the anger radiating from his body but I don't care. "You're my problem!" He finally shouts, throwing his hands up in the air.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I ask.

"You fucking-" He pauses, huffing. In a haste he then spits out, "You were all in my face space! You were touching me and helping me and you said you were gonna kiss me!"

And there it is. Finally, he's telling me how I fucked up. "Well I'm sorry I made you so uncomfortable. Trust me, as soon as you're back, you won't have to see me ever again!"

Something flashes across his face, and for a second he stops glaring at me. "Uncomfortable?" He parrots. 

I don't have time to play mockingbird. :"Yeah, look, I'm sorry I made a move and freaked you out, okay? Just stop acting like I killed your family or something!" All I did was touch his neck, fuck. This is tiring. 

His expression completely changes, like wiping a slate clean. "You didn't make me uncomfortable." He tells me feebly. 

"Then what's your goddamn problem?" I ask, only a tiny bit genuine with my curiosity, 

"I-" Again, he takes a breath, another fucking breath. "You said you were gonna kiss me." I stare at him blankly. We've established this already. "Ryan, you said you were gonna kiss me and then you walked away and hooked up with some stranger!"

"He's not a stranger-" I try to argue, but he holds up a hand.

"You made me feel like you were actually  _into_ me, and then you walked away and left me all flustered and bring that same jackass home to fuck right in front of me!"

"I don't see the big deal." I say honestly. "I'm not your boyfriend. It's not like I was cheating on you."

He stamps his foot angrily and groans. "You didn't  _kiss_ me." He says weakly, pushing hair out of his face and his eyes shining again with frustrated tears. Oh.  _Oh._ _I am a complete, fucking idiot._ I didn't make him uncomfortable, I let him down! Not even gently, Ryan, holy shit.

"I thought I creeped you out." I say, stepping towards him.

"No, not at all. I was confused as fuck." He explains, watching my hands move to grab the collar of his shirt. I've got a collar full of a boy that I'm not supposed to know.

"I'm sorry I confused you." I tell him earnestly, dropping my voice and leaning towards him. When I kiss him, my first thought is  _huh, this is nice. Different._ It's nothing like any kiss I've had before. Even compared to just a few minutes ago, with Pete. Every person I've ever kissed has been rough and heated, happening just because it was the prologue to the story, the introduction before the fuck. When I kiss him, it's cliche, soft and indicative of nothing besides a kiss. His breath fans across my lips and his eyelashes flutter and there's nothing but warmth between us and it's just  _good._  

When I try to move my hands to his skin, he just pulls away a little, blushing lightly. I don't even have time to feel disappointed or rejected because he offers me more kisses that just make me smile. "I don't know if I can kiss you anymore." He says softly.

I feel my face contort into an ugly pout. "Why not?" I ask, and I swear I fucking  _whimper._  

"'Cause of  _this_." His hand touches my neck, the sore spot where Pete bit me today. I groan and mentally deck myself for letting Pete do that even though I hate it anyway. 

"No fair," I groan, leaning towards him. He lets me kiss him just one more time before squirming away. 

"I just don't like it." He tells me, eyes stuck on the mark.

"Brendon-"

The name slips out of my mouth without me even thinking about it. It feels foreign on my tongue, like it's a word from a language that I'm just making up. I know it's not made up though, it's his name. I don't know how I know that, I just do.  _Brendon._

"Say that again," He asks and I do, repeating it, letting the letters roll out of my mouth. I feel almost like I'm the one casting a magical spell. A crazy smile breaks out on his- Brendon's- face, and he launches towards me, wrapping me in an impossibly tight hug. "That's my fucking name, Ryan!" He exclaims. 

"Yeah, I-I know?" I reply, still not sure how I know. 

After the tight embrace, I take every opportunity to use his name. I ask, "Do you want dinner, Brendon?", "What movie do you want to watch, Brendon?", "Can I kiss you just one more time, Brendon, please?" 

It's almost like making up for all the time that I didn't know his name, and it feels so nice to have something to call him other than something he's not. 

I feel excited about tomorrow. I'm ready to confront the girl that did this to Brendon and get her to fix this mess, so I can go outside with him and hold his hand and do gross couple-y things without looking like I forgot to take my meds or something. Halfway through some horror movie that isn't even scary, he falls asleep, his head on my chest as we lay on the couch. I'm lulled to sleep by his warmth and the comfort of having him so close.


	5. Unanswered Things

There's more snow falling from the sky, making me want to do anything except go out. Brendon watches it fall with childlike excitement, again perched in the windowsill. I tie my snow boots tight, pulling my snow pants over them to keep my socks dry. I like having feet, I don't want to lose them to frost bite. "Brendon," I call, earning his attention. "I'm going to head out and look for that girl."

He perks up a little. "Mystica?" He asks, eyebrow quirking up.

"Yeah, her." I nod, still hating how dumb the name sounds.

He stands, walking towards the door. "I'll come with you."

"You sure that's a good idea?" I immediately ask, not sure how today will go down.

Brendon frowns. "Well, if you don't want me to go-"

I quickly shake my head, stopping the sentence before it can even come to life. "No, I'd like you to come. It's just, I don't want you to get super high hopes or anything." He nods and I can see the microscopic change in his attitude. He went from anxious to hesitant in an instant, like I personally flipped the switch by talking. I'm an ass. "Do you have any winter clothes?" I ask to clear the air a little. 

"Nope, I don't need 'em." He tells me. I frown. Vaguely, I remember last night and how he was wearing the same tee-shirt he is now. Come to think of it, he's worn the same red tee and black jeans every day since I first saw him. I convince him to at least wear one of my thicker sweaters, even though he grumbles that it won't make a difference. Once it's pulled over his stubborn head, I press a kiss to his cheek. He stiffens only slightly, face growing red and a sheepish smile splayed across it.

He follows me out of the apartment building and I head towards the street to hail a taxi. The street is pretty clear of snow, better take advantage of it while I can. I let Brendon fumble in first, pretending to check my pockets thoroughly so I have an excuse to be waiting to get into the parked taxi. I slide right next to him, close enough so I can rest my hand on top of his. The cab is warm and the driver thankfully doesn't try to make small talk. After a few minutes, Brendon lays his head on my shoulder and twines our fingers together. I can't keep the smile off my face and I have to fight the urge to kiss him. The last thing I need is for the driver to turn around or glance in his rear-view mirror and see me making out with air. Holding Brendon's hand is enough for me.

In total the cab ride takes twenty minutes, thanks to the traffic created by people like myself that would rather not fight against the wind and snowflakes. I slide out of the cab when it stops and pay the driver through his window, leaving the door open long enough for Brendon to slip out. We hurry to the sidewalk and I try to imagine how I must look to other people, one hand stuffed in my coat desperate for warmth and the other dangling by my side as if I'm dragging an invisible suitcase. At least he's as warm as ever, so my un-gloved hand stays safe in his. 

I spot the building that matches the address from the website. It's a regular townhouse crammed next to another on a street of typical, downtown townhouses. It's old, the brick crumbling in some spots and the sign next to the door reads  _Mystica's Magical Nest._ I cringe at how stupid the name is. I begin to move towards the place, but Brendon doesn't move. I turn back to him and see that he's just standing in the middle of the sidewalk staring up at the building, not even blinking against the snowflakes that swirl down and stick to his eyelashes.

"Brendon," I call out. "You okay?"

In a daze, he looks at me. "Y-yeah." He finally moves with me, grabbing my hand again and shivering, but obviously not from the cold. We walk together up the steps slowly, mostly because it's slippery from the slushy snow but also because I can tell Brendon feels super nervous about the whole thing. When we get to the top of the short set of stairs I see that below the name of the shop, the sign also says  _Psychic Readings: $10._ Like I'd fork over any of my money for that shit. The door has yet another sign that says  _open,_ so I go ahead and twist the handle and let myself in, stomping my shoes on the welcome mat. 

A bored looking girl with short blonde hair and heavy eye makeup perks up from behind a make-shift counter. She looks surprised to see me. I guess costumers are rare in this shop. It's pretty small and simple. There's a few bookshelves advertising titles that all have the word "magic" in them somewhere, and scattered throughout the room are different tables filled with odd looking items. "Hello," The blonde greets pleasantly. "How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for- Mystica?" My tongue fumbles over the stupid name. The girl nods and points me towards a door that I hadn't noticed before, telling me that Mystica's there. I thank her and walk over, the wooden floor creaking loudly with each step I take. I feel like I could fall through the floor if I step too hard. When I raise my hand to knock, I see that I'm shaking. Wow, Ryan. Calm down. No need to make a scene. The sound of my knock is dull, the wood of the door thick. In a second it is opened and I'm looking at the same girl from the website, dark blue hair and all. Her smile is wide and despite everything, it does look kind.

"Welcome-" Her eyes shift from me to just over my shoulder. The smile on her face falls and I see her grow pale. "S-sorry, I'm not open right now." She's short, but damn does she move fast. In an instant my hand is out, slapping loudly against the door to keep it propped open from her attempt to lock us out.

"I'm not a customer." I tell her, forcing my way through.

I hear her clear her throat nervously. "Then what do you want?" 

"I have a problem. A problem you caused."

Her eyes are still behind me, and judging from the angle and whatnot it's almost like she's looking at Brendon. "I-I don't know you, you must be thinking of someone else." She stammers weakly.

"No, you're the witch I'm looking for." I say, mocking the word  _witch._  

She shifts her weight from foot to foot, making me feel anxious just looking at her. I notice that she has started looking down at her feet. "Well, okay." She huffs. "Please, take a seat."

She turns away from me and sits herself in one of the many empty chairs scattered in the room. I see now that it's slightly smaller than the main room, with a crammed bookshelf and a cluttered desk taking up the space that the dozens of chairs don't. I sit in a chair that's just a few feet away from her and Brendon sits next to me, close, keeping a nervous hand on mine. Once we are all situated, well, in her eyes once  _I'm_ situated, she talks. "What brings you to my nest?"

It sounds like a line from a script, and I want to rip that script up and set it on fire. "I have a friend that you hurt." I begin, testing the waters. Her eyebrows pull together. "His name is Brendon. Brendon Urie."

"I-I'm sorry, that doesn't sound familiar." She says, but I see it. I see the way she shifts uncomfortably and the way she throws her eyes up, glancing at Brendon. 

"You're a liar." I smirk, watching how she just squirms under my gaze. I'm not an intimidating guy, I'm scrawny and pale and feminine, but this girl looks like I'm holding a knife to her throat or something. Huh. Tempting.

She lets out a long breath. When she speaks again, she doesn't look at me. "How have you been, Brendon?"

I turn to look at him. This was obviously something he wasn't expecting. He had been watching with a cautious yet bored eye, but now he sits up straight, eyes wide and mouth parted in wonder. "Can- can you see me?" He asks. His voice is small.

"Yes." She is no longer looking at the ground or her hands or even me, it's like I'm the one who's disappeared. "I lied, Brendon. I cast that spell, of course I can still see through it."

"But you- you just walked away!" Brendon exclaims. "Ignored me when I talked to you, acted like I was invisible!"

"Because you  _are."_ She says and, okay. Why does she sound angry?

"Apparently not!" Brendon shouts. "Why haven't you done anything?" His voice is desperate and sad and I wish he stayed home.

She bites on her lip, eyes shiny with tears that are slowly building up. "Be-because I can't do anything." 

I snap out of my silence and say, "What do you mean you can't do anything?"

She blinks, looking from Brendon to me like she just remembered I'm here too. "That spell was cast with such young emotion- you really have no idea how much emotion can effect the power of a spell."

"So put your heart into bringing him  _back!"_ I yell, seeing her flinch a little. Good. Her eyes drop from my face to our hands, no longer together but still close.

"Are you two. . . ?" She trails off, leaving her obvious question in the air.

I snort. God, who does she think she is? "It's none of your damn business." I snap. Brendon has been silent beside me for a while. When I look, he's not in the chair. Or he is and he's gone invisible. Great. She leans forward slightly. 

"What is your name?" She asks me, eyes narrowing.

I want to spit at her, tell her to kiss my ass, but I just grit my teeth and say, "Ryan."

"Ryan, you're not listening to me." She says. "Emotion really does effect spells."

"That's not helping anything." I tell her. "I'm not here to learn how to become fucking  _Merlin._ "

She shakes her head. "I have an idea. I can't tell you the details because that could spoil nature's course." She seems to be talking more to herself at this point. "Ryan," Her eyes are sharp when they snap back to me. "It's all in the soul."

I've had my fill. This has been too much stupid for one day. I stand without saying anything and head towards the door, thinking that Brendon has already gone outside and is waiting. When I get to the door I hear Brendon though, his voice uneven as he asks. "How long has it been?"

I look towards the girl and her expression softens. "You don't know?"

Brendon is visible in the chair again. Visibly shaking. "Sorry, I've been preoccupied with  _not existing_ , so I might have missed a few New Years." 

It was a sarcastic comment, but the girl remains solemn as she says, "Bren, it's been three years." 

Before I even have time to really comprehend what that means or just how much time has been lost to Brendon, he's invisible again. This time I'm positive he's gone, because I feel myself moving away from the door without really thinking about it. It must be so he can get through, like time and space help keep him out of existence by telling people,  _just a step to the left, you want to stand there for some reason. Trust me, it makes sense._  My phone buzzes in my pocket, pulling me from the silly idea. I let my stare rest on the girl for just a moment longer, hoping that it translates all the anger I'm feeling. I don't turn away until her eyes finally flick down with shame. I let her door slam shut behind me, not caring that it makes the girl behind the counter jump and gasp, and I storm out of the house hoping that my heavy footfall will let me fall through the floor so I can sue her ass. 

Outside hits me like a brick, the cold air ripping the anger from my lungs. Near the curb I see Brendon, and he has a cigarette in his hand. I didn't know he smoked. The hacking cough that erupts from him is enough to tell me that he doesn't. "Where'd you get that?" I call out. Obviously it's not from his own, inexperienced pack.

"Uh, some guy. I think he might've been homeless." He tells me, not inhaling anymore, just staring at the burning stick between his hands.

"You bummed a smoke from a bum." I try to joke as I approach him, but Brendon just stays the way he is, frozen again. I pluck the cigarette from between his fingers and smoke it for him, welcoming the burn in my lungs. It's been a while. His eyes are on me as I finish it and flick it away, letting the snow bury it and suffocate the ember. "How are you?" I ask.

He steps forward and sort of falls onto my chest, arms wrapped tight around my waist, his embrace warming me. I hug him back, not caring what it might look like to a random passerby. The streets are pretty vacant anyway. "I just want to go home." He says, voice muffled by my coat. I nod and kiss him gently on the forehead before I start walking, looking for a cab. 

I make the driver stop at the coffee shop near my house, not caring that he's an asshole that will leave the meter running while I'm there. I buy two huge cups of hot chocolate and swiftly hand one to Brendon. "Sir," I'm called after as I make my way to leave. "I'm sorry I charged you for two hot chocolates, not just one. Your change," She holds out the money and I stare at it, confused. Oh. I guess Brendon's hot chocolate vanished from existence with him. I shrug and tell her to keep the change. I try not to notice how Brendon's shoulders slump lower with the whole ordeal.

Finally, we make it back to the apartment and Brendon sets his cup down and goes straight to the bedroom. I slowly follow, but then hear the soft click of the door shutting in place. Softly I knock and even softer I call out, "Brendon?" 

There's no reply. I didn't really think I'd get one. 

I go to sit on the couch in the living room. It's probably best to give him whatever space he wants, he'd probably just go invisible if I tried to talk to him. The apartment is suddenly as cold as it is outside, so I just grab a spare blanket and plug in my heater while I sit and think. I wonder what that girl meant by telling me about emotions and the soul. Am I supposed to learn a spell and cast it emotionally to bring Brendon back? I wonder if  _it's all in the soul_ means something like selling your soul. Probably not.

I've successfully drained my hot chocolate by the time I remember that my phone had buzzed earlier. When I check it, I see a message from Spencer.  _Dude, haven't seen you in forever. you alive?_ He asks me.

My fingers hover over the letters, my brain shutting down. Eventually I just type,  _Been busy, call you later._ And toss my phone aside, rubbing my eyes tiredly. I hear the shuffle of feet against the carpet and I look to see Brendon making his way towards the living room. He keeps his head low, but I see that his eyes are pinkish and his cheeks are wet. "I, uh," His voice is hoarse and low. "I didn't want to cry in front of you, but then I remembered you bought me hot chocolate and I don't want to be alone."

I smile softly at him, holding his cup towards him. He sinks into the couch next to me. My heart breaks a little bit for him. I don't want him to feel alone or invisible anymore. He sips quietly on his drink, the occasional sniffle slipping out. The silence is just a little too uncomfortable on top of the sad tension, but then Brendon asks, "Ryan, what do you think of us?"

The question catches me off guard. "What do you mean?"

"Like, what are we?" Brendon clarifies, not looking me in the eye. 

"I don't- I mean," I pause to gather my scrambled thoughts. I want to give him elaborate words that would make him weak in the knees and putty in my hands but instead all that comes out of my mouth is, "I like you, Brendon." 

I see just a twitch of a smile on his lips, but it dies quickly. "Ryan, what if I don't ever come back?"

I hadn't even considered that. "You will," I insist, saying it to convince myself, too.

"But you don't know that for sure." Brendon sighs. It's not an argument but a resignation.

"Well, you're here to me and that's all that matters for me." I try, not exactly sure what I can do to completely reassure him.

"That's not enough," He says sternly. "You won't be able to introduce me to friends or family, they'll all think you're alone and-" He stops his short ramble for a moment before finishing with a small, "I want to be  _in_ your life, not just a shadow to it."

"You will be in my life- you are." I tell him, putting my hand on his cheek. It's damp from tears. A weight settles in my chest at that moment exactly. I'm falling in love with this boy. I'm not quite there yet, but he means more to me romantically than anyone has in years, maybe in my whole life. I just want to see him smile, see him whistle while he does dishes and be there for him. That's all I want. That's all. I lean in to kiss him, but he pulls away from me a little.

"Ryan, this isn't fair to you." He whispers, almost so that I can barely hear him. 

"What isn't?" I ask, moving so he has to look me in the eyes.

"I just. One day you're going to realize that I can't be  _all of that_ for you, not yet." He sighs. "I'm scared that that day could be tomorrow, or even in a week or month or however long it takes you." 

"You're enough for me," I tell him. It's true. I've known him for what, three months and I already don't want to lose him, ever. There's a second where he just looks at me and it's all so dumb, so overly-complicated and dramatic and I hate that, but I don't hate him. I don't think I will ever hate him. Finally, he leans forward and kisses me. Even though we don't have all the answers we had hoped for, it's enough for right now. I just hope he doesn't fear me running away so much that he ends up going invisible and never coming back. 

I kiss him harder when I imagine that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive been suffering because of mcr who am i
> 
> more stuff will happen its almost over


	6. Unknown Meetings

Spencer frowns at me from across the table. I messed up. Brendon was in the kitchen, humming and spinning around like he was invisible, which, I guess he is. A smile had found it's way to my face and I zoned out watching him, coming back when Spencer was waving a hand in front of my face. Okay, I haven't exactly been a warm, welcoming host, but Spencer's known me for practically my whole life so it doesn't matter whether or not I offer him a glass of water or tell him to make himself comfortable. "Ryan, seriously. What's wrong?" Spencer is kind and I would trust him with my life if I had to, but the idea of me telling him that the person I'm sort of dating doesn't technically exist seems a little too weird, even for our friendship.

Brendon wants me to tell him, in fact I have a hard time keeping my eyes on Spencer as Brendon shouts, "Just tell him!" And proceeds to chant, "Do it! Do it! Do it!" 

"Nothing's wrong." I say quickly, cutting off Brendon to finally answer Spencer. I decide to reveal only a little bit of the truth. "I'm just thinking."

"About what?" He asks.

"Just. . ." I pause to think about what to say. "I've been seeing someone." I eventually decide on. "I guess that's what I'm busy thinking about." 

Spencer's eyes widen, just a tiny bit. "Seriously?" 

"Yeah." I shrug, feeling my cheeks flush when I look at Brendon's smile.

"For how long? What's she like?" 

My smile falters. Yeah, the last time I was in a relationship that lasted more than two weeks was with a girl. But have I really never told Spencer about how sometimes I fuck guys? He'd be fine with it, I'm sure, but how did I never tell him? "Uh." I choke out nervously. I've never had to tell someone about it. I don't like the way my stomach is twisted. Is this coming out? It's fucking bullshit. Fuck Spencer for assuming I'm seeing a girl. "It's, uh, he's not-" The pronoun slips out of my mouth and I falter stupidly before finishing with, "He's not a she." Wow, Ryan. Write that one down to remember, true poetry has left your mouth.

"Oh." Spencer says, and I can't really read his expression. A second passes and then he says, "Well, what's he like?"

Relief washes through me, even though I didn't expect anything negative from him in the first place. I glance over Spencer's shoulder to Brendon, who's watching with a smile and eyes fixed on me. "He's great, Spence." That's lame, Ryan, come up with something else to say dammit. "I never thought I'd want to only be with one person." I can't look at Brendon, I'm too embarrassed. I'd probably gush about him if he weren't standing right in front of me, but I don't like being cheesy or cliche. My eyes drop from Brendon's face to my fingers, which have been shaking slightly from nerves. Maybe a change of topic would be good. "How about you, are you still seeing that one girl?"

Spencer's eyes darken as he says, "No, we broke up months ago." The smile on his face twitches back to life when he continues with, "But I've been seeing this girl, Linda. She's amazing." 

"That's good to hear, Spence." I say with a genuine smile. We haven't talked like this in a while. For the most part us hanging out only included loud clubs and sweaty bodies but here, at my kitchen table in the middle of the day, we've had a deeper conversation than we've had in years. I haven't even finished one beer. 

"You too, Ryan. Hey," He perks up suddenly. "We should do a double date thing."  
My breath catches, and I take a second to compose myself. "Double date?" I ask dumbly, just to stall.

"Yeah, I mean we're both seeing people and we haven't hung out in a while. I think it would be nice, a good way to meet everyone and whatnot." Spencer enthuses. 

My mouth goes dry and my tongue feels heavy. When I look to Brendon he's frowning. "Yeah, I'll talk to him and get back to you." I say. I can't say no to Spencer, not about meeting my sorta-boyfriend, so I guess being vague will have to do for now. 

Conversation passes and soon Spencer's phone is ringing. His girlfriend, Linda, wants to know when he'll be home and he's leaving within the hour. Huh. When did my life become this mundane? Just a month ago I was getting blackout drunk and fucking whatever walked by. 

I close the door on Spencer after saying my goodbyes and I turn to Brendon, who's eyes are cast down as he fiddles with my unfinished beer. "Sorry I didn't compliment you more." I speak up, swatting the silence away with my words. "I couldn't figure out how to tell Spencer just how great you are." Brendon smiles at me, but it's the lamest excuse for a smile that I've ever seen. "What's wrong?" I ask, hoping that he's not really upset that I didn't gush about him. I could've. Maybe I should've.

"Nothing." He mumbles. 

"Liar," I tease, stepping towards him. But then he goes invisible. "Brendon?" I call out. No response. "Brendon, please come back." When I round the corner to the living room I see him slumping on the couch, a pout on his lips and a shine to his eyes. "Seriously, talk to me." I say, sitting next to him and touching his arm, willing him to stay.  
"It's just-" He worries his lower lip and stares down at his lap. "You won't be able to go on a double date with Spencer. Not with me." 

Oh. "Then I won't go on one with him."

"You said you would." 

I know I did, Brendon. "I can keep making up excuses." I say, going to hold his hand but feeling him pull away. "Not this again, Bren." We just talked about how I don't care that I'll seem alone or whatever he said, about how that doesn't matter to me because all that matters is him.  
He stands up from the couch and for a second I think that he's just going to storm out but then I remember he can't leave. He just stands with his fists at his side, curled and knuckles white from pressure. "It's just not fair-"

"It has nothing to do with being fair." I cut him off, not wanting to hear this again. "I'll third-wheel a date, say you have a bad stomach bug or something, that'll keep them at bay for a while until I can bring you back."

"But what if you can't bring me back!" He yells. I stiffen up. After a pause, our shared silences thickening the air in the room, Brendon sighs and says, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." I reply. I stand up and close the space between us. "I have to get to work though, we'll talk more later?" I ask. 

Brendon nods, though I can tell that he's still very upset. I get a picture in my head of me bringing him home flowers and then I shake the thought away. I've never bought anyone flowers. They'd just die eventually. For now, I accept his nod and kiss him on the cheek before heading to the bar.

 

  
With the snow being cleared and turning to muddy mush, the bar starts to come back to life. The noise returns, covering up the buzz of the lights. I find myself smiling while working, happily distracted from my emotions. When the time comes for me to clock out, Pete calls me back to his office. I throw my towel over my shoulder and enter, keeping my hands stuffed in my jean pockets. "Hey," He smiles suggestively, pushing up from his chair and stepping towards me swiftly. 

"What's up?" I ask, trying to keep my voice light, hoping he doesn't somehow read it in his mind as flirtatious. I've only ever been flirtatious with him. For fucks sake, I've sucked his dick before, how else would I talk to him?  
"Haven't seen you in a while." He says, and I feel my back hit a wall. I hadn't even realized that I had been stepping away from his advances, but now there's no more space to back up. 

"I haven't missed any shifts." I try to joke, squirming slightly under his gaze.

"Let me correct myself," He replies. "I haven't seen you on your _knees_ in a while."

I choke out a fake laugh, hoping to convey the message that I just want to leave. Before I can squirm away, he surges forward and is kissing me. I mutter against his lips and push against his shoulders and he does back away, Pete's not a total creep, but he does look confused. "I just-" Before I can explain, I see Brendon and my heart stops. His fist is swinging, and I've never seen someone that doesn't exist try to punch another person, but I'm definitely more than shocked when Pete actually stumbles away and presses a palm to his cheek like it hurt. 

I blink at Pete, and then I'm looking at Brendon, who is staring at his fist and then at Pete and back again. Pete is only looking at me, though. "You didn't have to punch me, dude." He frowns. "Guess I deserved it though, message recieved loud and clear." 

"Pete, I didn't-"

He holds up a hand. "No worries, I'm a pushy guy. It's okay." He offers me a smile smile but winces at the stretch of his skin with the action. "Business associates?" He asks, mock formally.

"Uh, yeah." I find myself agreeing. If I were Pete, I would fire my ass. Instead of questioning anything, I just leave quickly, ignoring the way Brendon is still staring between his hand and Pete. 

The cold air is welcome against my skin, for once. My lips tingle but not in a good way. I stand on the curb outside of the bar and dig out an old pack of cigarettes that had been pushed deep into a pocket in my winter coat. I keep seeing Brendon's hand connect with Pete's jaw, how Pete thought it was me. He felt it, but still couldn't see Brendon at all. What does that mean? I get halfway through the stick when I see Brendon standing next to me out of the corner of my eye. "I didn't want to kiss Pete." I say quickly, too ashamed to look at him.  
"Why not?" Brendon asks. 

"Because he's not you, idiot." I huff, flicking the unfinished cigarette away. 

"I was there, duh. I saw everything. That's why I punched Pete and not you." He chuckles. "I haven't been able to touch someone in years." He says, voice softer.

I crack a smile. "You've been touching me." I wink. His cheeks redden from more than just the cold.  
"Shut up," He says with a smile. "Seriously. Every time I've tried to contact someone before, my touch just goes unnoticed. But I just punched Pete."

"Maybe," I start. Do I dare put my spark of hope out into the world? "Maybe that means you're coming back."

Brendon shakes his head. "I don't know." 

We walk home in silence. I occasionally pass my cigarettes to Brendon who coughs less than he did before when he would inhale. When we shuffle inside and shed our jackets, Brendon pushes against me and presses his lips to mine. "Thought you were upset," I say, chasing his lips as he pulls away.

"I was." He kisses me. "Am."

"Yeah?" I grab his face to keep it from moving so I can keep kissing him. 

"Mhm," He hums against my lips. I slip one hand down to his shoulder, not knowing how far he'd let me go. He usually shies away when I try to move under clothes. Maybe he's insecure about his body, though I don't know why he would be. Before I can decide on whether or not to push things, Brendon's hands are at my waist. Sure, he's let his hands roam before but he's never slipped a hand under my shirt like he is now. He stops kissing me to say, "I really didn't like seeing Pete kiss you."

I frown. "I know. I'm sorry, it won't happen anymore-" He slips a hand into my pants and I can't say anything else because his hand is around me and he's kissing right under my jaw and when I try to keep letting words out all that escapes my lips are a few moans. As his hand speeds up so does my breathing. I want to stop him, push him towards my bedroom but I'm already close, and clear thoughts don't come to me. 

Brendon's breath is hot on my lips and I crack my eyes open to see him. His eyes are dark, mouth slightly slack. He seems to be focused on my face. I watch him watch me and then I'm gone when he tugs just slightly harder than before, squeezing my eyes shut and falling against the door. We haven't even moved from the door. I collect myself and reach for him, kissing and finally letting myself touch his bare skin without worrying that I'm making him uncomfortable. My fingers travel lightly over his skin and I feel him shiver, but then he steps back and his shirt falls back into place and my fingers trace over air instead of skin. Shit.

"Bren," I fucking _whine_ , reaching for him. 

"Don't worry about me." He mutters, going to kiss me again. By now I've figured out that this is his way of distracting me, and while I love a good distraction, I love touching Brendon just a little more.

"I want," I whisper against his neck, sucking lightly. For a second he relaxes but then he's gone. Invisible. I stumble forward slightly, kissing the air and groaning, frustrated. I'm fine with not having sex, I'm not some asshole that would make my significant other do something they don't want to do, but Brendon was the one that initiated things! He did me right against the door with his hand, and he's shying away. I'm not frustrated because he's shying away, I'm frustrated because I don't know _why_.

I go to sit on the couch but when I walk I realize how uncomfortable my pants are now, so I change first. "Nice view." I hear once I'm pants-less. I feel bad. I hope he doesn't think that he had to touch me to keep me happy. I was happy with just kisses. 

"You didn't have to touch me," I tell him, whirling around once I'm dressed again. He's perched on the end of my bed, cross-legged. His eyebrows furrowed, like he's confused.

"Did you not want me to?"

"What? No, I did, I just-" _I sound like an asshole._ I sigh before continuing. "I just don't want you to think that you had to, to like, keep me happy or whatever." I explain poorly.

A look of understanding appears on his face and he starts shaking his head. "I didn't think that." 

I guess the only way I'm going to get a direct answer, is to ask a direct question. Even if I sound like a goddamn fool. "So, are you like, not ready for me to- to touch you too?" The question sounds dumb, the whole situation is dumb in my opinion, but I don't want anything Brendon doesn't want.

"It's not that. I want you to." He says, face growing red. "I just want to be back when you do." 

It takes a second for me to get what he means. _Back._ Here, physically, seen by everyone and not just me. "What difference would it make?" I ask. I'm not trying to be annoying, but I'm genuinely curious.

Brendon shrugs. "I want to fuck you when I'm not just a shadow to your life." His wording is crude, but it's the answer I was looking for. I guess no matter how many times we talk about it, that's how he'll always feel. I sit on the bed next to him.

"You were right, I might be able to reverse what happened." I tell him. In my anger, I hadn't really listened to what Mystica had told me. Her talk of souls just seemed stupid to me, but I've had about a week to think about it, even in the back of my mind.

"Yeah?" Brendon asks, turning to look at me.

I nod. "Mystica said something about using my soul to fix her mess." After I pause I joke, "Look, I care about you Bren, but I'm not selling my soul to bring you back."

Brendon laughs, and when I hear it, it doesn't seem so forced and fake. After he calms down a little he asks, "Did she tell you what to do with your soul then?"

"Nope." I shake my head and fall into laughter with him. He crawls under the covers with me, which is a first. Come to think of it, I've never seen him sleep. Whenever I head to bed, he's invisible. I try to close my eyes and relax but they keep drifting open to gaze at his resting face. When I finally do drift off, I have an unfamiliar feeling in my chest. It's not bad or uncomfortable, but I roll on my side and wrap a hand around Brendon's waist just because it feels like the only thing I can do.

Before I fall asleep, I think quickly that I would sell my soul for him, if that would really make him happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep forgetting to post the chapters I write I'm sorry
> 
> Also sorry for all the errors and stuff, I went through and tried to fix as many as possible!


	7. Don't Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is pretty short, really just a way to lead into the next (and final) chapter

New Years is coming up. Brendon hasn't punched anyone since last month when he hit Pete. In fact, when I try to ask him about it, he avoids the topic. I don't know why he's so adamant about not talking about him coming back. "I just don't like to get my hopes up." He had told me Christmas morning. My apartment had been filled with some friends to celebrate. One of my friends, Jon, came over and asked why I seemed so glum. "It's Christmas!" He exclaimed, sloshing his cup of spiked eggnog towards me. I pointed him in the direction of Spencer, hoping he'd go bug him about his Christmas spirit or lack thereof, and suck over to stand by where Brendon was moping.

By the time the small party was over, I was drunk and in love with a scarf I had been gifted, hanging on Brendon like I was a clingy ornament and he was my favorite tree. In my haze I had let a wishful, "I can't wait 'till you're here." Slip out into Brendon's ear. I had meant that I can't wait until everything is fixed, but nothing comes out right when you're drunk. I crashed after my friends left, and woke up a few hours later and Brendon was nowhere to be seen. We've made up since then, but I still have no idea just what he was doing all that time I was out.

Just like now. I guess he's able to leave my area now, because he's not in the apartment. Before I would have assumed he was just invisible, but he never hides from me. I try to think if I upset him again, but nothing comes to mind. Unless I'm just that big of an asshole. Maybe I'm the worst boyfriend in the world.  
Thinking that makes my chest pang with worry. Brendon's able to just go invisible and never come back, what if that's what happened? I glance at the coffee table where three unopened letters sit, all addressed to Brendon's family and stamped with the same _do not return_ as the first one that slipped through my door three months ago. I haven't opened them since I know that they're all personal, but I can't help but wonder what happened between Brendon and his family that he had resorted to writing them old-school letters. 

I wonder what it's like to pour your heart into a letter and have it sent out only for it to never reach it's sender. Or, have it arrive and stay unopened. Like writing letters to the moon, nobody will ever read it and the destination seems impossibly unattainable. 

Just then, I hear the door creak open and Brendon shuffles through, shivering in the winter coat he borrowed. Cold is affecting him more now, too. All of these signs make me feel hopeful, but they just seem to worry him more. "Hey," I greet, feeling the urge to scoop the letters up and hide them away, even though they're his to see. "You went out?"

He glances at me before busying himself with hanging the coat up, something I hardly ever do. "Yeah, just seeing how far I could go." He tells me. His voice sounds strained, like he had been talking and maybe even yelling.

"Oh. How'd it go?"

"Got to the train, then I had to stop." He shrugs, moving over to me. "Is it just me, or is it freezing outside?"

"That's winter for you," I reply, watching his eyes drift back to me and then to the table.

"Well, it's been almost four years since I last felt a winter." He says bitterly. "Mail?"

"Oh. Uh, for you I guess." I tell him before shuffling away from the table. I feel like he'll want his own space with this, or at least not have me breathing over his shoulder while he looks. He walks over, still avoiding my eyes and I feel a little hurt by how he's acting. I must have really fucked something up. I watch from a short distance as he examines each letter, flipping them over and over in his hands like there's a secret message waiting to be found. I try to read his face, but he is stony and not revealing any emotion.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

Unlike the first letter, he doesn't keep those. He just drops them back to the table and turns away. "Yeah, fine." 

"Brendon-"

He cuts me off by walking over and kissing me. "Missed you," He says quickly.

"Missed you too." I tell him, a little caught off guard by the suddenness of his actions.

"What are your plans for tonight?" He asks.

"I was just going to watch the ball drop." I shrug, quickly adding, "No parties tonight though, I don't really want to repeat Christmas."  
Brendon's eyes seem misty and he keeps staring at me, a total difference to how he was acting just a minute ago. His gaze is so intense that I have to look away at one point and clear my throat awkwardly. "I haven't watched the ball drop in three years." Brendon says, more to himself than to me. He just seems far away.

"We'll watch it tonight." I promise him, secretly hoping that he won't disappear tonight or tomorrow or ever. The last time I had a meaningful New Year's kiss was back with my high school girlfriend, when I sneaked out to meet her and we counted down to midnight with our phones and made out in the middle of the field behind the school when we thought nobody was around, even though I'm sure there were plenty of teenagers out trying to kiss their loves. 

Back then, her and I had been dating since the middle of Sophomore year, so we were well past the first 'I love you.' Actually, when I think of that relationship, I think that was the last time I ever told someone I loved them outside of like, my mom. I want to tell Brendon I love him, but I'm hesitant. I care about him so, so much, but I don't want to freak him out. I mean, is three months too soon to be professing your love to the person you're dating? I don't know, I don't think I know anything. 

I managed to get the night off from Pete, at least. I think he's afraid that I'll punch him if he upsets me, because I know what the bar is usually like on New Year's Eve, so Pete is no doubt bringing in all of his employees. Oh well, I think I earned a break from that place. When I turn to tell Brendon about it, I see him staring at the letters again. Whatever sentence had been forming dies on my lips and I find myself asking, "What's with those?" When he looks at me with shiny eyes, I backtrack and quickly say, "I mean, it's none of my business. I was just wondering." 

"It's fine." Brendon says, voice sad. "They're just letters I wrote to my family after the incident. That's why they've been sent back."

His words bring an ache to my chest and I wonder if this is what love is, feeling all the pain that the other person feels just because you don't want them to feel the pain alone. "They weren't okay with it, you know." He continues after a second. "Me being gay. They are very religious and it just shocked them. Maybe they would have taken it better if they hadn't walked in on me blowing one of the other guys from church." He says, trying to joke but just sounding sad and angry.

"Then why would you want to write them?" I ask. I can't imagine my parents disowning me. It wouldn't happen.

"I guess I figured it wouldn't matter since I didn't exist." He frowns. "Their problem is gone, I was never born."

"Bren," I don't know how to comfort him. I just say, "Well, you have me now. I'm glad you were born." He glances at me and I feel like there's more he's not saying. What could he possibly be keeping from me? Feeling nervous for whatever reason, I start to say, "And Brendon, I- I lo-"

There's a knock at my door. I quickly go to answer it, maybe that was a sign from the universe that it's too soon and I shouldn't tell Brendon I love him. When I open it, Spencer's there with a petite blonde that I assume is his girlfriend Linda, and our friend Jon. "Ryan, hey!" Spencer exclaims, pulling me into a hug.   
  
"Hey, guys. What's up?" I ask, trying to keep from glancing over my shoulder at Brendon.   
Spencer raises an eyebrow and motions to Jon who then holds out a bag of weed. Shit, they want to come into my apartment and get high. I shake my head and Spencer's eyebrow drops. "What's wrong?" He asks.

"It's just, my boyfriend-"

"He can join in!" Spencer smiles. I feel like he's already smoked some.

"Guys, I can't, not tonight." I go to close the door but Jon is offering me the small baggie. 

"No worries," He tells me. "For you and your boyfriend, we get it." I smile my thanks and they leave and I feel like the worst friend in the world. Thankfully they were already pretty gone, or else it wouldn't have been so easy to get them to go. I'd love for them to come in and get high with me, but I can't exactly pass Brendon the joint and include him without everyone wondering where all of the weed is going. 

"Do you smoke?" I ask, turning back to Brendon. He frowns at me. I remember the cigarettes and smile. "This stuff can be easier than menthol deathtraps." I joke, going to my kitchen to set up. Brendon looks more curious than sad now, so I hurry through rolling it and then I'm inhaling deep, letting the smoke fill my lungs. I tilt my head back and let the cloud out slowly, waiting for the tense spot in my neck to feel unwound. 

I put my attention back to Brendon and hand the joint over to him. He hesitates, but then takes a huge puff, coughing but not as terribly as the first time he smoked a cigarette. I'm a bad influence. He blows the smoke out clumsily and waves it away, squinting through watery eyes. "Try this," I say, taking the joint and inhaling some, holding the smoke in my mouth. I grab him by the neck with my free hand and pull him towards me. He opens his mouth automatically, kissing has become second nature to us, and I let the smoke blow from my mouth to his and then kiss his neck when he tilts his head back. 

We end up on my balcony. I'm on the third story of the apartment building, so the view is pretty okay. We go through the small amount Jon gave me fairly quickly so we just sit, watching the sky as the drug courses through us. Brendon is more touchy when he's high, holding my hand and kissing my cheeks more than he would sober. More sloppy, too. But I don't care, it's all good.

"I lied, you know." He speaks up suddenly, sometime around when the sun is starting to set. "About where I was today."

"Yeah? Where'd you go?" If I wasn't so buzzed, I would worry that maybe he was cheating on me, but I giggle at the thought because that's impossible.

"Mystica."

The name surprises me. He seemed pretty upset when we went to her, I never would have thought he would go back to her, especially without me. "Why?" I ask.

"I've had time to think about everything, so I went to talk to her more about fixing this problem." He tells me.

"Did you two come up with anything?"

"Yes." He smiles lazily at me, eyes trained on my lips.

"Well, what do we have to do?" I ask, excitedly grabbing his hand and squeezing.

"Can't tell you." He smirks, eyes fluttering shut. I drop his hand.

"Why not?"

"'Cause it's not part of the plan," He mumbles, apparently too tired now to talk about the solution to the problem we've been so desperate for. I feel a little annoyed, maybe it's because I've smoked a lot more weed than him and have a higher tolerance. He's definitely feeling it more than I am. 

"There's a plan?" I ask.

"Mhmm," He hums, leaning against me. We've been slumped against the wall next to the glass doors that lead to the balcony. I'm never out here so there's no chairs, and we didn't think to drag some out here. The concrete is just fine. "But if I tell you, it won't work."

"That doesn't seem fair." I grumble, tugging on his hair teasingly. He tilts his head up and kisses me, missing slightly and landing just below my mouth. 

"You're beautiful, Ryan." He smiles, glazed eyes observing me. I blush. I see him, the light from the sunset painting his skin a warm red tone, eyes shining from the high and a huge, lazy smile on his face. He's the beautiful one here. _I love him,_  I think. Before, I had only ever thought about telling him I love him, but that thought was filled with a pure need to shout it from the balcony, to kiss him until I pass out because I forgot to breathe, to hold him and never let go. I love him. I'm in love with him. 

Hours pass, the TV just background noise as the seconds tick away to the new year. I kiss Brendon at midnight, and feel the butterflies all the way in my toes.

 

 

 

We stay in my apartment for the next few days. Mostly because I don't have to work and I have no other plans, too enamored to text Spencer. Brendon came down from his high before midnight, our kiss was sober, I wonder if he could tell what I was aching to say. I know it was real, because even after I came down I was feeling the same way. The past few days I've been trying to find the right time to tell him, but our mouths have been too connected to do much talking.We're in the bed, making out and feeling, when I hear his stomach growl. Followed by mine. Shit, we haven't eaten in what feels like forever. We giggle against each other's mouths and decide to go to the store together to pick up ingredients to cook. I want to make something fancier than eggs and toast. 

January air bites into my exposed cheeks and nose, Brendon a shivering mess in two of my sweaters. I tried to insist on him wearing my coat, but he refused, instead bundling up in other things around the apartment. Luckily the nearest mini-mart isn't far away at all. 

My legs are longer, so I end up just about a foot ahead of Brendon. I hear a man say, "Do you have the time?" And turn to give it to him. When I glance over my shoulder though, I see he's stopped Brendon. He's asking Brendon. He can see Brendon?

Brendon looks between me and the man, his eyes wide and mouth agape. "It's eleven thirty-three," I tell the man when it's evident that Brendon is too shocked to answer. When the stranger thanks me and walks off, I grab Brendon by his shoulders and whisper-exclaim, "Did he see you!?"

Brendon's mouth has closed, but his eyes are still wide, staring at me. He shakes his head and then mutters, "You love me?"

My heart speeds up. Don't panic Ryan, don't say anything stupid. "I, uh," Brendon surges forward and kisses me, and I'm just confused. What just happened? How did Brendon come back? He takes the liberty of talking to the cashier, talking to strangers, talking to anyone who would stop and entertain him. He bounces with energy, literally bounces, nearly slipping on ice and falling. "Brendon, I'm confused." I say on the walk home.   
"About what?"

"How'd you come back?"

He smiles, cheeks turning a deep red color. "You love me."

Now I'm blushing, feeling light-headed and tingly, but in a good way. We've stopped walking right in the middle of the sidewalk, but there's nobody around. "I-" if I let myself think too much, I'd just end up being a stuttering mess. So I suck it up and just say, "I do love you."

"I love you too, Ryan."

On the walk home he explains to me that Mystica meant that I could will him back into existence ("It's all in the soul!") if I really wanted him back. Loving him was a strong enough emotion to break her spell, even though I had no idea I was casting spells by falling in love with him. "That's why I couldn't tell you." He says, shuffling around a patch of ice. "If I said, 'Hey Ryan, you have to fall in love with me to fix everything,' tons of things could go wrong. You could feel to pressured to have the feeling be genuine, or be scared off by the notion. So it had to come naturally." He explains.

I immediately pull my phone out of my pocket and shoot off a text to Spencer saying, "Still up for that double date?" Brendon says he can't wait to officially meet Spencer. Even though Brendon's seen him a million times, Spencer has never met him. Not that he knows of, at least. Spencer replies positively with a series of exclamation points and I get so carried away in the excitement that we plan it for that very night. It's kind of last minute, but what better way to celebrate?

Brendon dances around my living room with me, spinning me wildly and singing at the top of his lungs and I've never felt happier. That night, Spencer and his girlfriend talk for hours with Brendon, who is just happy that other people finally see him.

Worry prickles in the back of my neck though. Of course, I've never felt happier than I did when Brendon and I found out he was back, but now people see him. He could leave, find interest in someone else completely now that his only option isn't me. I push the thought away for the night, but I hold his hand tighter when we walk and whenever else I can. Spencer says how happy he is to finally meet Brendon, notes how happy I seem with him. I agree, blushing when Brendon pecks my cheek. 

The night is fun, there's no other way to describe it. We all went out to a local Chinese buffet and ate until we couldn't walk, and then drank beer until we couldn't see straight. By the time we parted, Brendon and I were seriously considering just crashing in a random alley for the night, but the chill in the air kept us going. I guess we're going to have to get him a winter coat now that he feels temperature like a regular person that exists. I feel terrible watching him shiver in three of my sweaters. 

We drunkenly stumble home and pass out, the day too exciting for anything else to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have never smoked a weed
> 
> also sorry if the writing seems rushed I'm just not the best writer ya know


End file.
